


Packing Up

by sebviathan



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: (at least as of right now), Canon Compliant, Identity Issues, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tenderness, The Duck Knight Returns, but it blooms so fast, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: Drake doesn't have much of a choice but to leave a significant era of his life for good. Launchpad is, meanwhile, more than happy to help.





	Packing Up

Launchpad half-expects him to take the advice to heart immediately and simply disappear into the night, ready to stake out the criminal underbelly of Duckburg. Surely he'll wake up in the morning to read about a masked vigilante swiftly stopping a mugging in its tracks, or leaving a gang beaten and tied up before the police themselves could arrive.

The other half expects Darkwing—no,  _Drake_ —to at least tip his hat and bid him goodnight, which also scares him because Launchpad realizes that he hasn't given the guy any contact information yet, or—wait, has he even said his  _name_  yet?

All the ways that he could least-awkwardly throw that information out before it's too late run through Launchpad's head at a dizzying speed, almost enough to make him feel like passing out again, and as they walk out of the destroyed movie set he opens his mouth—

And the other man abruptly stops in his tracks.

"What's up?" Launchpad says instead, his fear fading quickly.

"I just..." Drake stares out at the night for a moment, then drops his shoulders and lets out a seething sigh. "...remembered that I've been living out of my trailer on this set for the past month. And now  _that's_  probably gone, too."

"Oh!  _Nah_ , I'm sure Mr. McDee will understand and give you some time before kicking you out—"

It seems the very moment that Launchpad puts a reassuring hand on Drake's shoulder, then, Scrooge passes by and points his cane at them:

"Mallard, lad, sorry about your little movie, but I'd appreciate it if your belongings were out of  _my_  trailer before the morning. Good night!"

Drake scowls, then directs it up at Launchpad, who glances at his boss and smiles back sheepishly. The grip on his shoulder tightens.

"...I'll help you pack?" he offers.

"Don't you have to drive McMoneybags home to his huge mansion that he doesn't need, full of money that he refuses to put back out into the economy?"

That gives Launchpad a moment of pause, knowing that not only Scrooge but Dewey will be waiting for him... but also that Drake is right, at least about that second part. Scrooge doesn't  _need_  him. He can afford a cab if he really needs to get home that quickly. He could afford a million cabs. He could even just call Della, his  _original_  pilot, to come pick him up.

And Dewey of all people would certainly understand.

Maybe it's the Darkwing outfit and the otherwise uncanny resemblance to the character that pushes him over, but Launchpad feels inclined to simply get them both walking again and in the direction of Drake's trailer.

"Eh, he can wait."

 

*

 

It feels anti-climatic to take the Darkwing clothes off in front of Launchpad, but wherever he winds up tonight, he thinks he should be dressed normally when he does. So the hat and cape have got to get packed up.

"Are you just stealing those from the set?" Launchpad asks, carefully unsticking one of the posters from the wall and rolling it up.

He sounds more amused than disapproving anyway, but Drake still quickly defends himself—

"Stealing? No, these are mine. Made them myself. Scrooge practically  _ordered_  Boorswan to cast me based on the fact that I was saving him money on wardrobe alone—but obviously I would've been cast  _anyway_ , I'm sure..."

Drake trails off, noticing the way that Launchpad is staring at him. He instinctively looks down at himself, expecting to see a stain or a bug, then realizes that he  _did_  just pull an argyle sweater over his plaid button-up.

"Oh—yeah, I know, conflicting patterns. But frankly I'm allowed 'cause I'm—"

"You sew your own costumes?" Launchpad says, in that same soft voice that he had earlier, when he proposed that Drake get in the hero business for real. Then, averting his gaze to the next poster, "...Is there any way you're  _not_  like Darkwing?"

 _Oh._ That certainly hits his validation bell. Just about as much, crazily enough, as being cast in this movie in the first place did.

"Uh—" He laughs a bit nervously, and is somehow  _very_  ready to admit, "Well, for one, I'm a barista. Or... dammit, I  _was_."

Drake was so overwhelmed by flattery he almost forgot about that. And now he's back to scowling and feeling too heavy to put this stuff away, and muttering to himself,

"I just  _had_  to make a whole scene about quitting, huh? Starducks wouldn't hire me back in a million years—and god, what studio would cast someone involved in another actor getting  _blown up_? Oh, what's even the  _point_  of acting anymore if ever playing Darkwing is officially off the table..."

There are only so many things that he can feasibly  _get back up_  from. Most of them, purely physical. Drake's body bounces back out of sheer will.

But if his will alone could give him financial stability, or make job-hunting an easy feat, or keep rent from costing money, or fix the economy, or allow him to actually  _thrive_  from his passions... well. He wouldn't have ever had to sell his labor to a corporate machine like Starducks at all,  _would_  he.

After putting his  _Keep Calm and Get Dangerous_  pillows through the vacuum sealer, Drake looks up from the couch to find Launchpad staring again. This time with concern. And with the vintage Darkwing shampoo bottle wrapped in a little too much bubble wrap.

"You got a place to stay tonight, right? You said earlier that you moved out of your apartment for this."

Yeah, he'd assumed that he would be paid enough from this movie to get a better place afterward, and that in the meantime it wouldn't make sense to pay rent for a place he wasn't sleeping in.  _Ugh._  Drake's finding a new reason to mentally kick his own ass every passing minute. Also Scrooge's. But mostly his own.

"...Well, worst case scenario I'll sleep in the storage unit where the rest of my stuff is," is his first instinct to say.

"You don't have family you can stay with?"

"Family?  _Ha!_ —definitely not. Haven't talked to them in over a decade." And he's about to leave it at that before Launchpad tilts his head like an innocently confused dog. His chest throbs. "They, uh... aren't exactly a fan. Of me, being... you know—"

He gestures down at himself, believing wholeheartedly that it should be obvious and waiting for the other man to fill in the blank.

Launchpad blinks. "An actor?"

Drake stifles an incredulous laugh.  _Close enough,_  he thinks, and before he can correct him, he watches Launchpad's face bloom with delayed understanding. Then his gaze catches Drake's in recognition.  _Then_  he's clearly embarrassed, and quickly changes the subject:

"I mean, you have to have some friends who'll let you crash, though, don'tcha?"

Hearing  _that_  is actually far more sobering than mention of his family. He almost thinks he'd prefer to change the subject right back and to share every last detail of his coming out and how much apathy he truly feels when it comes to any biological connection he has, discounting all his  _contempt_  for them... At least that would be something that he already has developed ideas on.

 _This_ , he has to think of an answer for right on the spot.

The expectant look that Launchpad is giving him doesn't help.

Drake promptly stands up from the couch to put those deflated pillows in a box, and to have a moment of clarity, away from Launchpad's gaze.

"Uh, well. I mean, not... the thing about that is—"

The worst part is, he knows that he could very easily and believably lie, and yet for the first time in a  _long_  time, he truly does not want to.

"I have to be honest with you, Launchpad," he says, turning around swiftly. His breath's already coming a little short. "I... don't. Have any friends. At... at  _all_ , really. And when I say that, I  _really_  mean it, it's not some low self-esteem thing, I... have literally been socially isolating myself since college."

Not the first time he's said that out loud, but he's pretty sure it's the first time that it made him feel ashamed. It's never felt like he was describing a  _flaw_ , before. It's never made him feel inadequate next to the person he was talking to. The short laugh that comes after that admission has never been so nervous or lacked so much mirth.

On the opposite side of the trailer, Launchpad visibly goes through the motions of mentally parsing that out.

The genuine way that he frowns and purses his beak in confusion is certainly another first.

"But... but you're the president of a Darkwing Duck fanclub, aren't you?  _That's_  socializing. Isn't it? You don't have friends in there?"

He lets out another short laugh—more like a hiccup. "It's barely socializing. It's only five people,  _including_  myself, and the only thing we  _ever_  discuss is Darkwing Duck and most of them are  _arguments_  because none of their opinions on characterization actually line up with mine, and!—And that's exactly it, Launchpad, it's  _all_  Darkwing Duck!

"I...  _sure_ , I have acquaintances, I have coworkers, or  _former_  coworkers, I have neighbors, I don't run away from  _all_  small-talk, but I... I honestly do not have a cohesive idea of who I even  _am_  if I'm not thinking of myself in the context of him. All the stuff I do and all the people I talk to that aren't related to Darkwing Duck just feels  _fake_. And I don't know if it was subconscious, or on purpose, but I know it was shortly after I got out of high school and out of where I'd had  _no choice_  but to talk to people all the time... that it clicked in me that  _Darkwing_  did everything alone. Darkwing never trusted anyone or ever made any real friends. So naturally, for the past ten years... neither did I."

That probably covers it all. Now that he's said it all aloud, though... Christ. Drake probably sounds insane. Even worse than  _I want to keep you in a big jar in my closet_  insane. How disconnected from reality has he  _been_  all of these years?

He isn't sure how long he's been staring at the floor and catching his breath when he hears Launchpad speak again.

"Well, Darkwing, you're welcome to stay with me if you don't have anywhere else."

Drake's head snaps up. Launchpad is wearing a soft, but trembling smirk.

"Or even if you do have anywhere else. It's no trouble, I swear! It  _is_  the garage in the McDuck manor, though, and I probably need to clean up a little... or a lot, but. Still, I'd get it if you don't—"

"Oh,  _anywhere_  that I can sleep for free tonight is by far the best option I've got," he doesn't hesitate to say, in spite of everything that was running through his head only a moment ago. It's like Launchpad just snapped him right out of it.

What Drake can't quite bring himself to say aloud, even as Launchpad beams back at him and hurries to finish packing the rest of his things, is how relieved he is that that option is with  _him_.

 

*

 

"You have a  _motorcycle_  too?"

"Yep! It's no Ratcatcher— _yet_ —but as you can probably guess I  _did_  literally buy this and also got my motorcycle license in the first place specifically for Darkwing reasons. Objectively not the best idea, since I can usually only carry around what fits in the side-car, but... small price to pay, I guess."

Launchpad himself may have gone to similar lengths, what with his pursual of becoming the exact sort of pilot that Darkwing was, but he's still deeply in awe as he loads the motorcycle into the limo. It may or may not be what causes him to fumble with working it in there and dent the trunk up a bit—nothing he can't fix, though.

He might also just finally be feeling the effects of the day he's had, really. He's already fainted more times than he can count (and not just because he can't count very high) and his body seems to want to just do it again, at the same time that he doesn't think he could do it anymore if he tried.

Instead Launchpad simply closes the trunk as far down as it will go and turns around to lean against it. The destroyed set is on the other side of the studio entirely, but he still finds himself looking around the lot, expecting to see some evidence of it. Some evidence of  _Jim_.

"It's getting to you too, huh?" comes a soft voice next to him, followed by the slightest shift in weight of the limo. He turns his head to find Drake leaning there.

"Is it that obvious?" he says with a smile and a short breath of a laugh. It's not like he was trying to hide it. Though it did feel good to be the calmer one, to simply  _be_  there for someone who was surely taking it much worse... as long as that lasted. "Yeah, uh... adventuring around with Mr. McDee could only prepare me for so much, I guess."

This is the most rattled that Drake thinks he's seen him all evening. For all that  _he_  has prepared to be a hero, to  _help_  people, meanwhile... he has no idea what to do about it.

Except, after willing himself to cave into an impulse, to reach out and put his hand on Launchpad's arm. It sends the same sort of tingles up his own as when the other man first grabbed his shoulder, earlier.

Launchpad's heart jumps almost immediately. Then he does something that he hasn't had a reason to in a very long time, and does his best to push it back down. And he swallows and begins rubbing the back of his neck.

"By the way, um. After everything you said earlier, I get that you're uncomfortable making friends, and I don't expect you to pretend that we are or anything. I'm happy just being a fan—"

"What? No, Launchpad, I told you all of that because I... I  _want_  to be your friend." As Launchpad faces him and beams yet again, then, Drake feels a surge of confidence. "I just wanted to warn you about... what you were getting into, I guess. Didn't want you to be surprised when it became obvious that I have almost no experience being a real  _person_ , let alone having real friends... But god, tonight was... Tonight I felt more  _real_  than I have in years, if that makes any sense."

Almost at once, there's a hand engulfing his shoulder.

"Maybe that's because becoming a real-life Darkwing Duck was something you were always meant to do."

Launchpad feels positive as he says it that it's true. Hell, even just standing here  _now_ , dressed like a frumpy sitcom dad, Drake looks more obviously like Darkwing than anyone he's ever seen, even in the most professional-looking cosplay. Even more than Jim Starling himself, as guilty as he feels to think so.

He can't  _not_  think it, though. It's right in front of him.

"Honestly, it's hard to believe you went this long  _without_  doing it," he continues, with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided smile. It quickly grows more earnest. "But also—okay, I am  _so_  relieved that you wanna be friends, because so do I, and I feel like I already know you! Except... I also know that I don't. And I swear that it's not  _just_ because you embody everything about the character that I've admired my whole life, I... I'd really like to get to know Drake Mallard, too."

"Damn, so would I," is Drake's first instinct to say in spite of how lightheaded he's getting. He stares down at himself. "...I guess it's about time, huh."

It occurs to him, while in not so many words, that maybe his problem this whole time is that he's been trying to live 100% of his time as some compromise between Drake and Darkwing. That maybe if and  _when_  he starts being a legitimate hero half the time, it'll open up the door for him to spend the other half as simply himself.

Just getting a taste of it, now, is already opening up the door for a lot of things.

Like realizing how deeply starved for touch he is, and noticing that Launchpad's hand has migrated in-between his shoulder blades. And leaning into it without thinking.

He clears his throat.

"You know... Darkwing never had a civilian identity. And he never had a sidekick," he practically breathes. "But maybe he should have."

Launchpad gasps and jumps before Drake can even fully face him.

"You—d'you mean...  _me_?"

Drake frowns for a moment, beak stretching into an odd smile.

"... _Yeah_ , Launchpad. I meant you. Well—if you want to. If you even have  _time_  in-between all those globetrotting adventures with the McDucks, I mean..."

As much as he's always loved Darkwing Duck, Launchpad has thought for  _years_  about how much the show could have been improved if its hero had any kind of partner. Though at the same time, he's glad that they never included it because it allowed him to have tons of post-series ideas that could never be debunked.

He suddenly has so many things that he wants to say all at once. He wants to tell Drake about his fanscript and all the other, less organized ideas that he has written on burrito wrappers somewhere, he wants to tell him how many times he has thought and  _dreamt_  specifically about being Darkwing Duck's sidekick, he wants even to admit that he doesn't think he'll be needed much on Scrooge's adventures any longer—

And then, speak of the devil, the back window of the limo begins rolling down. Scrooge's head pokes out.

"Oi, Launchpad! Are you perhaps planning on  _taking us home_  anytime soon?"

"Yeah—" comes Dewey's voice from further in, " no offense, Launchpad, I'm just getting really bored and I already looked through all of the old-rich-people magazines that Uncle Scrooge keeps in here!"

That's their very sobering cue to get up and bring the rest of Drake's things to the front of the limo, they both suppose.

For a moment, however, Launchpad is frozen in his train of thought.

"Um." He shakes his head and stands up straight and, before apologizing to Scrooge and Dewey, grins at Drake and tells him, "I'm sure I can figure something out. Just like you will."

 

Then he's scooping all the boxes off the ground and rushing around to the front passenger door, which he opens with his foot, to Drake's amusement. Drake gets in before Launchpad loads his things so that there isn't just this wall of boxes between them, and—

And now that he's sitting down, he suddenly realizes how exhausted he is.

Particularly in that he notices a little Darkwing Duck bobblehead on the dashboard and only has the energy to smile to himself.

"I'm probably gonna pass out on the way there," he says once Launchpad gets in the driver's seat and closes the door. His arms are already folded over his chest, and his eyes already half shut. "Just a warning."

"Oh."

Launchpad puts the key in the ignition without looking, unable for the moment to tear his eyes away from Drake's sleepy gaze.  _A warning of what?_  he thinks.  _That he'll lean into me on accident? ...That I might have to carry him inside when we get there?_

He gives Drake the tiniest of nods, and tells him,

"No problem, DW. I'll try not to wake you up."

 

Scrooge and Dewey both remark, later, that that had to be the smoothest ride with Launchpad they've ever been on.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway this was lowkey a character study because the way that the darkwing identity (& how it intersects with drake) has been translated into the reboot is so interesting and also PAINFULLY relatable. me writing this was like... ridiculously meta. but i already wrote [the dwd91 equivalent of it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114922), so it only makes sense i'd do this too.
> 
> also after they get back to mcduck manor, lp puts drake in the hammock and sleeps on the couch and drake probably falls onto the floor when he wakes up. i just didn't put that in bc it didn't fit thematically. they're in love thanks for coming to my ted talk
> 
> ALSO i drew [this](https://bassdraws.tumblr.com/post/185524258650) for the end scene


End file.
